


Day four limerick fix it fic

by tacit



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Children of Earth Fix-It, M/M, in limerick form, just because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:16:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacit/pseuds/tacit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I wrote a limerick about auto-erotic asphyxiation, and then I wrote a few more. </p><p>A series of limericks telling the story of what I think should have happened after the 4-5-6 released the poison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day four limerick fix it fic

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago when the third series originally aired. I never posted it anywhere because it's so short, but come on. The world clearly needs more limericks about hypoxia. I still think it rocks a little bit. I still feel I ought to apologise.

They thought they could go with no plan,  
the 4-5-6 don't think they can.  
He can't hold his breath,  
the alternative's death,  
Jack needs to find air for his man

There must be a breath mask about,  
his wish to breathe in is devout,  
the air is still toxic,  
and Ianto's hypoxic,  
living to old age is in doubt

Saving the world's gone off track  
he's hoisted upon a strong back  
Jack's covered his face  
they're losing their race  
at least he got two years with--

 

He wakes up encased in a mask  
it seems that Jack managed the task  
his chest hurts like fire  
his mouth tastes quite dire  
he savours this moment to bask

Jack's still and grey, in a sprawl,  
death has him, a thief with a thrall  
has he died and revived  
but been O2 deprived?  
repeating that won't do at all

(A phobia's fast-tracked formation,  
he's putting breath play on probation.  
With baddies: psychotic;  
or autoerotic,  
he's anti asphyxiation)

His welder's mask must have a pair  
he finds it, and hooks up the air  
he feels pretty shit  
his head wants to split  
(his answerphone shows Gwen can swear)

The Powers That Be should forebode  
Three texts to undo what's been sowed  
A picture to Gwen, (live and wily)  
to Jack just a, “Thanks,” (with a smiley)  
and, “Fuck them,” he texts Rhys. “Upload.”


End file.
